


Nothing Better Than a Bad Idea

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Arthur, Bottom Eames, Canon Compliant, Eames' Stupid Cupid Exchange, Frottage, M/M, Porn with Feelings, but not for long, hesitant!Arthur, so much sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: Five times Eames talks Arthur into sex and one time he doesn't have to.





	Nothing Better Than a Bad Idea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhilomathX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhilomathX/gifts).



> This is for PhilomathX, who is very patient, and lovely, and wanted Hesitant!Arthur and sex.

**1.**

 

They’re on their second job together when Eames looks over from the passenger seat of the ‘01 Ford Taurus Arthur acquired and says, “Fancy a knob slob?” 

 

“Excuse me?” Arthur chokes out, his hand tightening on his coffee cup enough to crumple it.

 

“Careful now,” Eames chides, taking the cup away. “You’ll make me feel bad for asking if you ruin your trousers.”

 

“Mr. Eames—”

 

“Oh, don’t ‘Mr. Eames’ me, darling, I’ve seen you looking.”

 

Arthur swallows, a blush burning through him. He keeps his eyes on the door the mark is sure to come through any minute and clears his throat. “Looking and touching are two very different things.”

 

“You’re right, they are,” Eames agrees, sliding his wide palm over Arthur’s knee. “Isn’t touching more fun?”

 

“We’re working,” Arthur tries, because he can deny it all he likes, but his cock is very much on board with what Eames is offering.

 

“We’ve been sitting here four hours, Arthur. He’s obviously not going out again tonight. He’s probably already jerked off to the sale section of the Macy’s insert and passed out with his fingers still sticky. Besides,” Eames says, his voice dropping as his hand inches up Arthur’s inseam. “It won’t take long.”

 

“That good, are you?” Arthur asks, going for dry, but coming out strained.

 

“Oh, poppet, you have no idea. You’ve never had anything like me before.”

 

Arthur snorts. He can’t help it, Eames sounds like a cheap romance novel. “You have no idea what I’ve had.”

 

“I bet I can have you cursing my name in under three minutes,” Eames tells him, challenge evident in every line of his body, and double so where he’s now cupping Arthur’s half hard cock through his pants.

 

Arthur rolls his eyes and bats Eames’ hand away so he can open his belt. “Well, if it’s the only way to shut you up.”

 

Eames’ mouth is hot, and wet, and very, very willing, and Arthur has to bite down on the heel of his palm to cut off a groan when Eames starts working him in earnest. A minute later, his eyes are watering and he’s close to biting through his skin because Eames wasn’t lying and Arthur wants to scream, and this, of course, is when the mark finally appears, walking quickly to his car and climbing inside.

 

“Eames, stop,” Arthur grunts, trying to pull him off. Eames fumbles for Arthur’s wrist and taps his watch. “Renaud just get in his car, we have to follow him.

 

Eames grumbles and takes Arthur’s dick out of his mouth just long enough to say, “So follow him,” and then he’s back at it, throat squeezing around Arthur as he sucks and sucks. His head hits the steering wheel as Arthur takes the sharp corner out of the garage, but it doesn’t slow him down, and Arthur is seeing double by the time they’re on the street, a respectable two cars behind the mark.

 

“Jesus, this is stupid,” Arthur swears, unable to hold back a moan as Eames works the tip, his tongue swirling over the slit. “We’re going to crash.”

 

Eames chuckles around him and Arthur’s hips snap forward, cutting Eames off and turning his laugh into a moan.

 

At the two minute mark Arthur’s balls are tingling and he can’t quite keep his foot steady on the gas pedal. He nearly rear ends the car in front of them at a stoplight, and he threads his fingers into Eames’ hair, keeping him exactly where he is because there’s a police cruiser beside them and he’s so fucking close he can taste it.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” he chants as the light changes and the mark makes an unexpected right turn. Arthur bullies his way into the next lane and follows, careful not to speed as Eames’ mumbling sends shocks of pleasure through him. Another last-second turn, and Arthur knows they’ve been made. He reaches around Eames for his gun, letting it rest against the back of Eames’ skull as he forces air through his nose. Everything has an aura of light around it, and Arthur whines in the back of his throat as he comes in perfect synchronicity with the alarm of his watch.

 

Eames swallows thickly and pulls off, looking triumphant. He tucks Arthur back into his pants and runs a hand through his hair as the mark pulls over to the side of the road and makes a run for it. Arthur stops the car, throwing Eames against the dash, but Eames doesn’t even wince before he’s out the door and chasing the man down.

 

At the ten minute mark, Arthur closes the trunk on the unconscious mark and brushes dirt off his pants. “I don’t know why you’re so smug,” he says to Eames, tossing him the keys. “You said under three minutes, and that was precisely three.”

 

“You started to come before the alarm, darling, trust me,” Eames argues, sliding into the driver’s seat.

 

“I trust you about as far as I can throw you, Eames,” Arthur tells him, shedding his jacket before getting in. 

 

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, you’re too proud, you know that. I tasted you, darling. And I did it before the alarm.” Eames pulls back on the road, signalling even though there are no other cars around.

 

Arthur shakes his head and rolls his cuffs to his elbows. “You’re wrong.”

 

“What are you going to do about it then?” Eames asks with a shit-eating grin.

 

Arthur smirks and resets his watch. “Finish you in under two.”

 

**2.**

 

“You can’t be serious,” Arthur says, flatly.

 

“I’m hurt, darling, and the doctor told you to cater to me,” Eames whines.

 

“The doctor told me to go easy on you, not give you whatever insane thing you wanted. And you  _ are _ hurt, Eames, you got shot.”

 

“You can go easy on me, I promise,” Eames pleads, and Arthur can’t believe what he’s seeing, but Eames is very obviously tenting the sheets of the hospital bed.

 

“You’ve been out of surgery for less than six hours.”

 

“And I missed you terribly,” Eames simpers, reaching out for Arthur.

 

Arthur goes to him, because how can he not, when he’s the reason Eames got shot?

 

“There are other things we can do,” he tries. “You’re not supposed to move your shoulder.”

 

“I solemnly swear to let you do all the work,” Eames vows, hand already working its way into Arthur’s pants.

 

“Eames,” Arthur says, grabbing his wrist to still him. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

 

The  _ again  _ goes unspoken, but it must show in his face because Eames pulls him into a one-armed hug, holding Arthur tighter than can be comfortable with his other arm in a sling and fresh from surgery.

 

“Arthur, listen to me,” Eames demands in a tone that brokers no argument. “This was not your fault.”

 

“Eames—”

 

“Shut up, I’m talking,” Eames tells him sternly, pressing a kiss to the side of Arthur’s head. “You are a very scary man with terrifyingly accurate marksmanship. If you’d been the one to shoot me, I’d be dead. I am not dead, therefore, it wasn’t you, but a shameful maladroit who shot  _ at _ me and got lucky.”

 

Arthur sighs and slumps against the bed, careful not to put too much of his weight on Eames. “You telling me I’m scary shouldn’t make me feel better.”

 

Eames’ laugh puffed through Arthur’s hair. “But it does, and that’s what’s important. Now, climb up here.”

 

“What? No!” Arthur disentangles himself from Eames and tries to step back.

 

“I cannot believe you’re going to make me do this myself, you tosser,” Eames grumbles, fighting to get his free hand under the bed sheet and around his cock.

 

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Arthur hisses.

 

“And who’s fault will that be, huh-argh!” Eames winces as his movements pull at his incision and the blood drains out of his face.

 

“Jesus Christ, just let me do it,” Arthur bullies his way past Eames’ hospital gown and gets a hand around him. “You’re going to cause permanent damage and I’m going to have to hear about it for the rest of my goddamn life.”

 

Eames sighs happily, dropping his head back against the pillows and closing his eyes as Arthur starts stroking him.

 

“You’re a menace,” Arthur tells him, hiding his surprise at how wet Eames is. 

 

Eames grins. “For the rest of your life, apparently.”

 

“Oh shut up,” Arthur snaps and opens his own pants. He climbs onto the bed, straddling Eames’ legs and carefully bracing himself against the bed over Eames’ wounded shoulder. He lets Eames go long enough to lick his palm, precome salty and warm on his tongue, and take them both in hand.

 

Arthur’s still in his rumpled suit, Eames’ blood stiff and dark against the white of his shirt, a shocking reminder of how much worse the day could have ended, but when Eames’ hand snakes around his hip and down the back of his trousers to grab his ass and pull him closer, Arthur obeys, because Eames could have died. The bullet could have hit two inches over and ended the best man Arthur’s ever met. Another five centimeters to the left and Arthur could have lost the love of his life before he’d even gotten the courage to confess how he feels. Fifty fucking millimeters and Arthur’s whole world, and his heart, would have stopped.

 

“That’s it, love,” Eames groans, his grip on Arthur unforgiving as Arthur works them, his eyes soft, but reassuring as Arthur breaks apart above him.

 

He’s breathing in gasps and sobs when he comes, but Arthur doesn’t stop, using his offering to finish Eames off, mumbling his love, his adoration, his complete and utter devotion for Eames, until they’re staring at each other in the gaping chasm of before and after the first moment of the rest of their lives.

 

“Feel better?” Eames asks, his voice rough and his eyes drooping.

 

“You knew,” Arthur whispers.

 

Eames’ smile is tired, but genuine. “You’re not as mysterious as you think you are, darling. Not to me.”

 

Arthur waits for Eames to fall asleep before cleaning them up and wedging himself carefully along Eames’ side, thinking that even emotionally drained and half covered in dried blood, there’s no other place he’d rather be.

 

**3.**

 

“Stop it,” Arthur warns, kneeing Eames in the chest.

 

“I’m bored,” Eames complains, his breath humid and warm on Arthur’s stomach.

 

“Eames, there are thirty members of a Columbian drug cartel on this boat and if we’re caught, we’re dead. The hard part is over, and now we just need to get home.”

 

“I assure you, the hard part is just about to begin,” Eames snickers, unzipping Arthur’s fly.

 

“Eames, stop!” he hisses, trying to move away, but there’s only so far you can go when you’re folded uncomfortable into the small floor space of a covered 5.3m Medline boat that’s stored at the back of a luxury yacht.

 

“You’re no fun at all, darling,” Eames pouts, leaning his head on Arthur’s hip. “I’ve still got a cockstand from the job and I’m starting to chafe. I need to get off.”

 

“You’ll make too much noise,” Arthur tells him, patting his head. “Think of unsexy things. Like Dom’s old man boxers and curdled milk.”

 

Eames chuckles, but shakes his head. “I tried that, but you’re right here, driving everything else out of my mind. God, Arthur, the way you smell.”

 

“Like adrenaline sweat?”

 

“Yes,” Eames groans quietly. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

 

“Well,” Arthur says, fingers trailing down to Eames’ neck. “I have some idea.”

 

It’s dim, but there’s enough light to see how Eames’ eyes are glinting up at him, and Arthur’s lying to himself if he thinks he can say no when Eames gets like this. Not that Arthur’s an innocent when it comes to sex in dangerous places. 

 

“What do you want?” he asks, shoving his hand into the collar of Eames’ shirt.

 

“I’m still open from this morning,” Eames says, already squirming up the length of the boat.

 

“You need me to fuck you?” Arthur whispers, rolling onto his side to make room for Eames’ bulk. 

 

“God, yes, Arthur,” Eames groans into Arthur’s shoulder.

 

“Shhh, you have to be quiet Eames, I’m serious. This isn’t the neighbours hearing us on the fire escape, this is life or death. Those men out there have a lot of guns and several very good reasons to shoot us with them. You can’t make a sound.”

 

“I won’t,” Eames promises, mouthing at Arthur’s neck.

 

“Roll over,” Arthur tells him, pressing Eames face first to the floor. He takes out the leather gloves he used on the job and has Eames bite down on them. “You make any noise and I’m stopping. If I’m going to die with my dick in you, it’s not going to be in the middle of the pacific ocean, a stowaway on a drug kingpin’s yacht, okay?”

 

Eames nods, teeth biting grooves into the soft leather, and fuck, if he doesn’t look beautiful like that.

 

Arthur takes Eames’ pants and underwear down just far enough to slot himself between his legs and nudge his spit-slicked cock between Eames’ cheeks. Eames was right, he is still wet from this morning, and Arthur bites back a moan at the slide of hours old lube and his own come as he presses in. Eames’ forehead is pressed to the floor of the boat and he’s breathing heavily around the gloves, but he doesn’t make a sound as Arthur enters him, taking a minute to let them both adjust before he pulls out almost all the way and thrust back in. Eames whines, low in his throat, and Arthur pauses. The voices and movements above them don’t change, so Arthur lays down over top of Eames and fucks him in short, brutal thrusts, going as deep as he can and circling his hips until they’re both shaking with the intensity of it. 

 

Eames is like a vise around him, and Arthur swears his cock is going to be bruised, but it’s worth it to give Eames what he needs. Arthur’s never been wanted like this before and it’s intoxicating. He can’t say no to Eames, not even when he really, really should. Like right now, for example, because there are voices and footsteps coming closer and they’re shielded by the boat cover, but it’s not soundproof, and Eames’ throat is clicking as he gasps for breath.

 

Arthur slows down as the footsteps stop just beyond the boat. He can hear the men clearly, but his Spanish isn’t good enough to follow the speed of their conversation. Eames cocks his head to the side and hitches up his hips, urging Arthur to keep going, and he wants to,  _ God  _ does he want to, but he settles for grinding his cock against Eames’ prostate until his body goes taut, clenching around Arthur hard enough to make him see stars as Eames comes all over the floor of the boat.

 

There’s laughter, and for one horrifying minute, Arthur thinks they’ve been caught, but the men move away, going back up the stairs to rejoin the party. Arthur breathes a sigh of relief between Eames’ shoulder blades, and starts up again, short, sharp bursts that have Eames grunting under him.

 

When he comes, it’s long and slow, and he rolls his hips the best he can as he feels come already leaking out of Eames around him. There’s no chance anyone will fail to notice what went on in the boat, but hopefully their first assumption won’t be sex between the two men who kidnapped their boss for three hours yesterday and left him unconscious in a dirty warehouse on the outskirts of Tumaco.

 

Eames squirms under him, spitting out the gloves and panting against the floor. “It worked, Rujos is breaking up the cartel.”

 

“This quickly?” Arthur asks, wincing as he pulls out. Yep, definitely bruised his dick.

 

“Seems someone took a shot at his woman last night while she was out with friends. She’s given him an ultimatum.”

 

Arthur raises his eyebrows and feigns innocence, fighting back a smug grin. “Lucky us.”

 

**4.**

 

“This is the stupidest fucking thing we’ve ever done,” Arthur spits, readjusting the sight on his rifle for the third time.

 

Eames laughs between grunts, snapping his hips with much more vigor than Arthur can appreciate in the moment. “You don’t want to pay the piper, don’t rub his flute.”

 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Arthur snaps, his hand sweaty on the butt of the gun.

 

“You’re always such a sore loser, darling, I don’t know why you let me do this to you,” Eames clucks his tongue and dabs at Arthur’s forehead with his handkerchief. “You never win our little bets, and yet you insist on making them.”

 

“Shut up and let me work,” he says, refocusing on his target, 856 meters away. The window to the yoga studio is open, just like Arthur was promised it would be, but between the muzzle of his Barrett M95 and the woman he’s aiming at, is a thickset man with yoga pants that are so tight they’re practically see-thru. He’s somehow sporting a man bun  _ and _ a bald spot, and from the look of it, he keeps offering to help the client out with her form.

 

“Think she’d be mad if I shot this guy instead?” Arthur asks after the fourth time the man brushes off her dismissal.

 

“Darling, I am trying to work here. Can you please focus?” Eames snipes, timing the words with his thrusts.

 

Arthur rolls his eyes and his hips, making Eames groan. “You’re work ethic is unparalleled, Eames.”

 

Eames presses him down, until Arthur’s cheek is pressed to the stock of the rifle, rocking back and forth as Eames speeds up. There are only ten minutes left in the class and Arthur needs to take the shot before they break, so he clenches and pushes back into Eames’ rhythm, urging him on.

 

Eames’ mouth closes on the curve of Arthur’s shoulder, biting down through the material of his shirt, and Arthur would scold him, but he’s too busy setting his teeth against the assault on his prostate and keeping an eye on the yoga class.

 

“You can’t come until you shoot,” Eames reminds him, panting.

 

“I know,” Arthur says, using the wall for leverage.

 

“Gonna pull the trigger with me inside you?” Eames asks, his voice low, teasing.

 

Arthur chuckles darkly. “Think you can handle the recoil?”

 

“I can handle anything you give me, darling,” Eames assures him, bending his knees to change the angle and making Arthur gasp as he’s forced onto the balls of his feet. He almost loses his grip on the gun, but he saves it, hoping Eames didn’t notice. 

 

“Careful, now,” Eames chides.

 

“I’m always careful.”

 

“You are,” Eames muses, switching to long, deep strokes. “It’s dead sexy.”

 

“That reminds me, you ruined my new label maker,” Arthur throws over his shoulder and Eames bursts out laughing, the sound choking off into a gasped curse as he starts to come. He fucks Arthur through it, fingers pressing through Arthur’s clothes firm enough to bruise, and as he slows, Arthur sets up the shot, taking advantage of the instructor distracting the unwanted stranger to pull the trigger.

 

Eames lets out a shocked moan and the recoil makes Arthur clench, forcing Eames out. He falls back, laughing and gasping as he ties off the condom and seals it in the baggie in his pocket. Can’t be too careful these days, what with all the advances in forensics.

 

Arthur packs away the gun in record time and has a gloved hand in Eames’ hair less than a minute later, tilting his head back and sliding his cock into Eames’ eager mouth. It doesn’t take long for him to shudder and pulse over Eames’ tongue, adrenaline pumping through him and the urge to get out and get clean thrumming under his skin.

 

Eames swallows it all and rights Arthur’s pants as Arthur picks up the rifle case. Moments later they’re strolling out of the front doors of the building as though nothing happened. 

 

“You’re a terrible influence,” Arthur tells him as they climb into a cab.

 

Eames grins, his face still pink and shiny with sweat. “I know, but you’ve come too far to get rid of me now.”

 

“True,” Arthur allows, nodding. “Easiest to give in and keep you around.”

 

“Surely there are worse fates,” Eames remarks, watching an ambulance speed by.

 

“I suppose. But Eames?”

 

“Hmm?” Eames turns to him.

 

“Next time let’s go double or nothing.”

 

Eames smiles, soft and fond. “You’re on.”

  
  


**5.**

 

“You’re blocking my light.”

 

Eames frowns and looks out over the water. “The sun is almost down.”

 

“I was watching it.”

 

“Your eyes are closed.”

 

Arthur huffs and opens one eye to glare at him from his place in the hammock. “Is there a reason you’re bothering me, Mr. Eames?”

 

Eames smiles and twines his fingers into the edge of the hammock. “I came back from my run and you were gone.”

 

“We’re on vacation and you went for a run,” Arthur points out. “I wanted to get as far away from your twisted work ethic as I could.”

 

Eames nods and looks around. “And you made it all the way to the hammock in front of our bungalow. Good on you!”

 

Arthur grins, arching his back in a stretch. “I only make it look easy.”

 

“That you do, love. Scooch over now,” Eames puts his knee up on the canvas, making Arthur tumble forward.

 

“Argh! What are you doing?”

 

“Joining you. Look, I brought a blanket,” Eames says, holding up the throw from the couch.

 

Arthur frowns, watching as Eames drops his shorts to the sand. “It’s eighty degrees out.”

 

“And the sun is going down. You know how you catch a chill in the evening air, darling,” Eames tells him, forcing Arthur to roll away and falling onto the canvas beside him.

 

“Ouf, you’re on my arm,” Arthur complains.

 

“I’m also naked, Arthur, think you could focus on that for a minute?” Eames snaps.

 

“Just for a minute, huh? You in a hurry?”

 

“With you, always,” Eames says, squirming around to get comfortable.

 

Arthur curls his arm around Eames’ waist, pulling him back against his chest to still him. “We’re here to slow down and relax, remember? We don’t have to rush.”

 

Eames relaxes into the hold, sighing. “We might if we don’t want the neighbours to notice what we’re up to.”

 

“Oh yeah? What is it that we’re up to, exactly?” Arthur laughs, ruffling the hair at the nape of Eames’ neck.

 

“Fuck me,” Eames demands, pressing his ass into the cradle of Arthur’s hips.

 

“Here?” Arthur asks, unconvinced, but unable to not touch Eames when he’s right there and asking for it. “Not exactly stable.”

 

“When the hammock is a rockin’,” Eames says, reaching back to palm Arthur’s ass.

 

Arthur laughs, jostling them and making the hammock swing. “Oh,” he says, doing it again. “Oh, I see.”

 

“Now you get it,” Eames chuckles, struggling to untie Arthur’s sarong.

 

Arthur tucks his arm under Eames’ head, providing a cushion and allowing them to slot closer together. Eames grunts happily when he conquers the knot in the sarong and pushes it aside to get at Arthur’s cock.

 

“If you turn around I can jerk us both,” Arthur offers.

 

Eames responds by guiding Arthur’s free hand between his cheeks, and when Arthur brushes two fingers over Eames’ hole, he’s only half surprised at the welcome party he finds. Not only is Eames messy with lube, but there’s a small plug tucked snugly inside him, keeping him ready and open for Arthur.

 

“Is this for me?” Arthur breathes, watching goosebumps rise on Eames’ skin as he nudges the plug. “You spoil me.”

 

“Nnng,” Eames moans when Arthur carefully twists the base.

 

“You sure you don’t want to take this inside? I could spread you out over the bed and take you apart, piece by delicious piece.”

 

Eames pushes back into Arthur’s hand in encouragement. “No, I want you here. Like this.”

 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Arthur says into the skin of Eames’ shoulder. “Grab the blanket.”

 

Eames drags it into the hammock, struggling to spread it over them as Arthur continues to play with the plug, pulling it out in small increments before pushing it back in. The blanket is small and doesn’t quite cover their feet once it’s pulled to their shoulders, but it should provide sufficient cover until the sun is fully set.

 

“You ready?” Arthur asks, pulling the plug out slowly. As soon as it’s out, Eames’ hand is back on Arthur’s ass, urging him forward. “Patience,” Arthur teases, biting at one of the rare blank stretches of skin on Eames’ back.

 

“Can’t,” Eames pants, sliding his fingers between Arthur’s cheeks and stroking.

 

Arthur shudders and drags his cock along Eames’ crease. “Scoot up and roll forward a little, you’re too low and the hammock is fucking with all the angles.”

 

Eames laughs, but does as he’s asked. “Arthur and the awful angles.”

 

“Eames and the extraordinary entrance,” Arthur responds, pressing in. The plug is digging into his hip and he pauses to drop it over the side.

 

“If it’s covered in sand we’re never using it again,” Eames remarks, making Arthur laugh and push forward until he bottoms out with a soft moan.

 

Arthur hooks his hand in the crease of Eames’ knee and pulls it out and up, opening Eames a little more so he can move freely.

 

“Um, Arthur, not okay,” Eames says, his voice muffled by the canvas.

 

Arthur peeks over Eames’ shoulder and sees that the adjustment has smushed his face into the hammock. “Sorry,” Arthur giggles, leaning back so Eames can breathe. “Still want to stay out here?”

 

“Yes, and I’m not going to change my mind. I want to make love to you in the hammock, under the stars. I don’t care how slow or shallow it has to be, I just want it.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Arthur soothes, rubbing Eames’ arm. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Whatever you want.”

 

“I want you,” Eames tells him, pulling Arthur’s arm around his chest.

 

Arthur holds him close and thrusts nice and slow, enjoying the tight squeeze of Eames around him. “You have me, Eames. Always.”

 

“Yeah,” Eames sighs, moving with Arthur and setting the hammock swinging.

 

The waves on the beach are loud, but soothing, and the sun has painted the sky with bright oranges and reds. In the hammock, the sounds of their soft grunts and the lazy meeting of their bodies is met with the hushed creak of the hammock swaying, and Arthur puts his ear to Eames’ back so he can hear his heartbeat, quick and steady.

 

The world narrows down to the space between them, Arthur’s cock feeling thick and dense, moving in and out of Eames barely enough to be called a thrust; inching back and forth, and able to feel every brush of skin and sheath, lighting up his nerves until Arthur feels like he’s stepped outside his body, hovering above them to take in their love making from every angle.

 

“Arthur,” Eames gasps, curling forward and pulling Arthur with him. The move gives Arthur a little more leverage and the hammock swings faster, cutting a wide arc between the trees anchoring it. Eames cries out, fisting his cock and working it to the rhythm of Arthur’s hips.

 

“Let me,” Arthur whispers, wrapping his hand around Eames’. “Slower. You wanted it slow, remember?”

 

“Arthur,” Eames repeats, turning his head for a kiss. It’s sloppy and wet, but kissing Eames never gets old and Arthur swears he tastes even better when he gets like this. Like he can’t stand for them to be apart, as though it physically pains him not to be touching Arthur. To be touched by him in turn.

 

“That’s it, sweetheart, I’m right here,” Arthur promises, biting at Eames’ jaw and stroking him slow and firm. “You gonna help me ruin this hammock?”

 

Eames whines, jerking into their hands and coming messily all over himself.

 

“Gorgeous,” Arthur whispers, loosening his hold. “Can you do that again for me, you think?”

 

Eames groans, slumping.

 

Arthur laughs, kissing his neck. “Come on, I’m not even close yet. Let me make you come again.”

 

“You’ll be the death of me,” Eames croaks, barely moving with him.

 

Arthur noses behind Eames’ ear and when he speaks his voice is low and affectionate. “Promises, promises.”

 

**+1.**

 

To say Eames is surprised when Arthur comes barging into his room with his trousers in his hand, twenty minutes before they’re set to begin, is an understatement. Because Arthur was adamant, un-fucking-compromising about the two of them not seeing each other before they met at the doors to the hall.

 

“What’s wrong?” Eames demands, abandoning his effort to straighten his tie and stalking over to where Arthur is panting against the door. “Who’s after you?”

 

“My sister,” Arthur spits, locking the door. “She keeps trying to sneak Dad’s favourite tie pin on me for the ceremony.”

 

Eames relaxes, curling an arm around Arthur’s waist. “Could be sweet, wearing something of your pop’s. Something old…”

 

“There’s a dinosaur on it, Eames. A fucking dinosaur. This is a Tom Ford!” he shakes his trousers and Eames can’t help but chuckle and bury his face in Arthur’s neck.

 

“We’re almost done, love,” he reminds him. “In an hour no one will care what we’re wearing because we’re providing an open bar and the best Journey cover band on the eastern seaboard.”

 

Arthur hums in agreement, wrapping his arms around Eames. “Do you ever think about the fact that I’m the last person you’re ever going to have sex with?”

 

Eames pulls back slowly, frowning at Arthur’s questioning look. “Ah, I don’t know. Do you?”

 

“Sometimes,” Arthur admits. “I think more about the fact that I’ll be having married sex for the rest of my life. I’ll never not be fucking someone’s husband.”

 

“Your husband,” Eames clarifies. “You better only be fucking  _ your _ husband.”

 

Arthur crinkles his brow. “Yeah, of course, that’s not the point.”

 

“Well, could you hurry up and get to that point? Because I’m starting to think you don’t want to go ahead with this.” Eames can’t help the anger and panic in his voice. He’s  _ this close _ to getting everything he’s ever wanted and this is when Arthur decides to bring this shit up?

 

“We’re never going to have sex as not married men again.”

 

“So?” Eames huffs, frustrated.

 

“So, I’m not ready for that!” Arthur shouts, fisting Eames’ shirt. “I want one last time as just us!”

 

“What do you expect me to do? Fuck you right here, fifteen minutes before we get married?”

 

Arthur’s grimace turns to a dangerous smirk in an instant. “Well, I did come prepared.”

 

And that’s why, three minutes later, he has Arthur pressed against the wall with his ankles locked at the small of Eames’ back, moaning as Eames shoves into him unapologetically.

 

“You’re such a brat,” he bites.

 

Arthur laughs, grabbing hold of a sconce for leverage to meet Eames’ thrusts.

 

“You had me worried,” Eames admits, widening his stance as much as he can with his trousers pooled at his feet. “Thought you were backing out on me.”

 

“Never,” Arthur swears viciously. “I won you fair and square.”

 

“I thought I won you.”

 

Arthur shakes his head, keening. “Do you have any idea how many people I had to scare off to keep your attention on me?” 

 

Eames slows and Arthur whimpers, trying to shove himself down on Eames’ cock. “Are you serious?”

 

“Don’t stop asshole, we’re on the clock. And yes, I wasn’t letting you leave me behind for something shiny and new once I caught you.”

 

“Arthur,” Eames whispers, cupping the side of his face. “Darling, you had me before you ever wanted me.”

 

“Well, I know that now,” Arthur huffs, rolling his eyes. “We’re getting married in ten minutes, of course you’re not going anywhere  _ now _ .”

 

Eames lets out a relieved laugh and shoves Arthur down, delighting in the groan that results. “Brat,” he says, fondly.

 

“Tick-tock, Mr. Eames,” Arthur pants, threading his fingers through Eames’ hair.

 

They end up six minutes late for their own wedding and there’s a hitch in Arthur’s step as they make their way to the altar, but his suit is pristine, Eames is wearing the dinosaur tie pin, and there’s no a single doubt in their minds that this is forever.


End file.
